Angel of the NoTell Motel
by Carole C
Summary: Threefold Cord AU: An angel, a booby-trapped motel room and a very odd mummy add up to a road trip rescue mission unusual even by Winchester standards. Set shortly after the events of A Threefold Cord. Sam, Dean, OFC. Possible spoilers to end of S4.
1. Chapter 1

_**THEN:**_

"You sure he ain't gonna pull another Houdini?" Bobby scowled through the narrow window in the panic room door.

Dean looked in at his brother. Sam was lying shackled again on a cot, but this time there was another cot lashed tightly against it. June lay beside him, equally restrained to the other bed-frame. She and Sam were already tangled up together. "I'm sure."

Bobby closed the window, but did not bar the door. "I hope you're right," he muttered as they climbed the basement stairs. "This damn near killed him the last time."

Dean glanced back over his shoulder and put more certainty into his voice than he had in his gut. "Yeah, but this time he's in there by his own choice, and he's not alone."

_**NOW:**_

_**Anna, IL**_

Dean groaned behind June as she turned the key in the lock. "Hurry up. Gotta crap."

The door swung open. She stayed planted in the doorway. He picked her up to bodily set her aside.

"Wait! I smell something!" she blurted, and squirmed free like she always did.

"It's a cheap motel room—" Sam started.

"So we don't want to know what you smell," Dean finished and made it over the threshold.

"Angel!" she snapped. That stopped him, despite the red alert from his guts.

"Still here?"

She shook her head. "Just left."

He headed for the bathroom.

"Was it Cas?" Sam leaned against the door frame and let her satisfy herself with her circle-growl-sniff routine.

"No," she answered, tugged both bedspreads off and tossed them into a corner. "But the angel had to be here very recently. Their scent is fugitive; it vanishes less than five minutes after they leave."

Sam dropped his duffel on the dresser. "Which begs the question of why an angel was in an empty motel room."

"Exactly. Puts my hackles up."

"Mine too. Best guess? Because it knew we'd be here," Sam answered. They began to search the room.

"Found anything yet?" Dean asked when he emerged from the bathroom. Sam shook his head and Dean joined the search.

Sam moved the TV on the bureau aside and ran his fingers over the wood beneath. "Here! A set of numbers- a coordinate."

"Where?" Dean squinted at the dresser top near Sam's finger tips.

"What the? It was just here! Scratched into the finish, all the way down to the bare wood!"

"Here!" June called out. She was squatting in front of the night stand between the beds, peering at the tarnished brass lamp. "Coordinates, looks like they were etched on."

She touched them. "I'll be danged! I swear, they were right there!"

Dean frowned. "There's some over here, in the doorfr—holy _shit!_"

"They vanish when we touch them," Sam blurted.

"No, they don't vanish," Dean said, staring down at his hand. "Check your palms!"

"Ohhh. This can't be good." June scratched at the glittering golden numerical tattoo that now decorated her palm from pinkie to thumb.

Sam held up his own ornamental set of coordinates. "Write it on your hands, children, so you don't forget?"

"Looks that way," Dean agreed.

"Great. So whatever's doing this thinks we're in kindergarten?" Sam scoffed.

Dean shrugged. "Compared to how most angels see us? Being considered pre-schoolers is an upgrade."

"In the interest of questioning all orders and covering one's ass," June drawled, scrubbing her palm against her skirt. "Should we take the risk of ignoring this, or the risk of following this lead blind?"

The brothers looked at one another.

"The angels that are pissed with us would have smoked us in our tracks as soon as we opened that door." Dean said. "Subtlety's not exactly their modus operandi."

"No harm in checking out where this would lead us," Sam agreed with a nod.

It took only a few moments to pin down the location emblazoned on their skins. "Wyoming. Why does it have to be Wyoming?" Sam groaned, drooping in his chair with melodramatic abandon.

"Why are we even surprised that's where it is?" Dean scowled at the map. "But, there's nothing there in that section. It's the back end of the back end."

"True, but it's also nowhere near the Hell's-gate, or Graybull, or Cheyenne either," Sam pointed out, straightening.

"So if it's not a mop-up mission of some kind, then what is it?"

"Something important enough for an angel to Easter-egg the hell out of a stinky motel room, that's what," June put in from where she sat cross-legged on the bed.

"The fact it did that, instead of just giving us the whole 'Fear not' spiel as soon as we walked in the door, plus the fact that these coordinates are for somewhere in Wyoming, is giving me a major case of the creeps," Sam nodded.

"So we ignore this," Dean nodded, flashing his palm again. "Till it goes away. Or not. At least it's not across our foreheads."

All three of them jumped and yelped simultaneously.

"Damn, that smarts!" Dean burst out, wincing at the blistering sting.

"Like grabbing onto a hot coal," Sam agreed, shaking his hand.

June simply licked her palm to cool it.

"Gross, fleabag," Dean told her.

She grabbed his hand and got in one sloppy swipe before he could grab it back. He wiped her spit off on her hair.

Sam ignored them both, glowering down at his own palm. "So if we even _think _about blowing this off, we get our hands spanked."

"So much for checking out that devil-dog in the mental hospital," June sighed, "after y'all forged me that service dog cert and everything."

"Hey! Feathers!" Dean announced to the stale atmosphere of the room at large. "I've been behind the wheel all damn day. My ass is numb and I'm starving. It's at least seventeen, eighteen hours back west to where ever it is you want us to go. We're grabbing some food and some sleep. You don't like it, go stick your gilded orders in some other Hunter's hand!"

A long tense moment. Nothing happened. "Silence gives assent?" Sam ventured.

"Works for me," Dean nodded.

-oOo-

Their wake-up call the next morning was a burning, tingling itch across their engraved palms, impossible to sleep through. The nagging sensations didn't let up until they were on the highway and heading west.

Sam scanned the internet as they traveled. "I know we've been through the mill out there, but otherwise, Wyoming seems about as scary as a pony ride. The usual residuals and minor poltergeists, unexplainable sounds, a feeling of being watched…."

"Bad pizza, bad plumbing, bad kids, bad wiring," Dean diagnosed in reverse order.

"Probably," Sam nodded. "Regardless, not our thing. Certainly not anything to interest an angel."

He suddenly chuckled. "Hey, June! Fort Bridger's supposed to be haunted by the ghost of a dog decorated for heroism for saving a young boy's life."

Dean pointed at June's reflection in the rear-view. "No, we are not going all the way out there so you can sniff its butt."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Killjoy."

"Maybe we can head that way afterwards," Sam teased her with a grin.

"Not that interested in salting and burning a dog carcass," Dean shrugged.

June gasped in mock horror. "Dean! You _will not_ gank the ghost puppy! He's a hero, remember?"

Sam clicked a few more times. "Nothin', nothin'. Bull. Nothin'. Yahtzee."

"What?"

"Demon sign, maybe. There's not a sizable population out there, but even so, within a twenty mile radius of our spot there're reports of a number of unusual natural phenomena. Deer and other wild mammals from field mice on up are going nuts, with no apparent organic cause. Freak cloud bursts without an associated weather front. Blue sky lightning strikes starting fires that burn out in perfect circles, all on their own. And the mountain evergreens are under attack from a beetle infestation, the worst die-off within a mile radius of guess where."

"Yeah, but that last one, the bugs, isn't that happening all over right now?"

"Not like this. It's like some kind of plague. The beetle population seemed to explode exponentially overnight in that one contained area. Oh, and last but certainly not least— at least fifteen people who've gone near our mystery spot within the last six months have been stricken with a creeping paralysis of the skeletal muscles that starts with a painful pinpoint spot on a limb and progresses up and across the body. Patient Zero's already on life support, his chest muscles and diaphragm too paralyzed to breathe on his own."

"That could be some new kind of tick paralysis, or some type of industrial toxin," June offered.

A few clicks more, and Sam shook his head. "CDC's ruled that out. They're baffled, no parasites, pathogens or toxins found in any of the victims."

"Now the sixty-four-k question is—what interest could demons have in an area that's probably got no more than a dozen souls per square mile?" Dean asked.

"Huh. Hang on a sec." Sam scanned a couple more web pages.

"Maybe it's not demons," Sam continued. "All the tribes have legends about creatures they call Little People or some variant on that. Nirumbee is one of the names for them near our area. Even Lewis and Clarke apparently saw them. Clarke described them as 'little devils' with big heads, about eighteen inches tall, and very territorial. It's said they shoot invisible arrows tipped with poison at their enemies which—get this- paralyzes before it kills. In 1932, two prospectors in the Casper Mountains—near our spot, surprise surprise- blasted the back of a vein they were working. The explosion opened up a cave and the two found a mummy inside that matched the natives' and Lewis' descriptions perfectly. Some theorized it was a fetus or deformed infant, but x-rays showed it had an adult skeleton and a full set of sharp teeth. The mummy changed hands a few times, then it was stolen in the early 1950's and has never turned up again."

Dean grinned. "Sounds more and more like our kind of deal." He sobered then. "If these Nirumbee have been around since before the white man came stumbling in, then they're gonna to be some bad-ass little bastards. But why are they raising a stink now? That mummy's been out of that cave and out of pocket for almost a century."

"Best guess—the Little Man Mine. The guys who found the mummy and staked the claim abandoned it when the vein petered out. It's been reopened, and they're extracting a modest amount of gold using modern methods. The paralysis striking the miners is about to shut the operation back down. CDC's even considering an area-wide quarantine."

"Makes sense. Maybe the miners woke up freeze-dried Yoda's vengeful spirit or something. Trail's so cold on the mummy we can forget toasting it extra-crispy. So, we have to figure out how to kill the rest of the damn things outright. Think iron would work? It'll be easy enough to fill some shells with iron filings, knock those suckers right back to Wonderland."

"Dean, if these are some sort of protective elemental, we can't kill any of them. It could cause a cataclysm for the area. It might be better to find out how to appease them instead of going in shotguns blasting."

"Well, if appeasing them takes human sacrifice, I'm not volunteering. Let 'em nibble on Ol' Yeller back there." He winked at June in the mirror.

"Jerk." She thumped the back of his seat with her fist. "Besides, I'm not human, ape-breath, so that leaves Sam to play the lamb."

"That better not have left a mark, Wishbone."


	2. Chapter 2

After a two-mile hike up rough, steep terrain, Dean was aware of two facts: That June walked point like a combat veteran, and that he needed to start joining Sam and her on those early-morning runs. At least their involuntary tattoos had faded away on the trail.

"This is it," Sam announced softly as they broke through the tall, dying pines into a small clearing.

"We're not alone," June added, her head lifting as she took in the scents. "We're being surrounded."

Instinctively, they drew together, back to back. Three-sixty degree coverage against whatever came at them. What did, hardly looked dangerous. It was a woman, her dark hair lifting and glinting in the breeze.

If he'd passed her on the streets of Cheyenne, the only reason he would have given her a second look was because she was beautiful. Nice curves, smooth brown skin and a strong Plains face. The only thing unusual about her was her wide choker of glinting gold nuggets.

As soon as she stepped out of the tree line, June sank to her knees, dumbstruck awe and bliss on her face. He and Sam both shot June a scowl, then nodded to one another. Angel this stranger may be, but even whacked out on her scent, June still kept that shotgun trained on center mass.

The angel was suddenly within arm's-length. "I am Pazya," she said. "Do not be afraid."

"Oh, we're not afraid, sister," Dean answered. "Try confused with a side order of pissed."

"What is this all about?" Sam's tone was a shade less antagonistic. "Why have you brought us here?"

"I have need of your skills." Pazya nodded to June. "Rise up bishké, and don't be surly. You know I mean no harm to your Hunters."

June obeyed like a windup doll, though she stayed smack between him and Sam, a half-stride in front of them both. With that shotgun still trained on the angel's sternum. Good dog. Crazy dog, maybe, but good dog.

"Why the big production to get us out here?" Sam asked. "Why not just ask?"

"Because I am a Guardian, not a Messenger," Pazya replied. "I cannot leave my post for more than a moment, especially now. I was also informed that you responded better to intrigue than to orders."

Dean was pretty sure he knew who'd ratted them out.

"If you're a Guardian, why aren't you guarding the miners against them?" June jerked her chin towards the tree-line.

"I am," Pazya replied. Her voice was smoky and low and just as flat as Cas's. "But the miners are not those I am primarily assigned to protect."

"The Nirumbee?" Sam asked.

"You're here for _them?_" Dean said almost at the same time.

"This surprises you." Pazya tilted her head. "Why? They are our Father's children, as are we."

"Shark-toothed, horse-heart-eating imps are a divine creation." Sam's tone was nothing but skeptical. No argument there.

"Merely sharp-toothed sheep of other pastures, Samuel," she said with a slight smile.

"If they're just mud-monkeys like the rest of us," Dean said, "Then how are they causing trouble on a divine scale? And what are we supposed to do about it?" He glanced towards the treeline and thought he caught a flicker of movement, a stealthy wave rippling through an advancing line. "Seems to me we're out-numbered here."

Pazya followed his glance and frowned. She lifted her hand to whoever was in that undergrowth, then turned her attention back to them. "They are created beings, but they are not human. They have powers beyond your own, but lower than those of angels. The 'trouble' you speak of is caused by the spirit of their greatest Shaman. He has happily wandered far in his second life, but now he is angry."

"Second life?" Sam echoed.

Pazya nodded. "At death, humans go to Heaven or to Hell. It is not so for the Nirumbee. Most of their souls sink back into the earth, to sleep until the day of Judgment. But their holy ones, those shamans who live out their years, are free to walk about in spirit and to aide the living even more powerfully than they did in life."

"So the Big Kahuna's throwing a post-mortem tantrum?" Dean's eyebrows lifted.

"Yes. Arapoosh is angry and offended and if he is not appeased, his wrath will become more destructive. Father does not wish to destroy him," Pazya's lips twitched, "Even though he has fully lived his name in the first life and the second."

"So, he's always been a major pain in the ass?"

"A higher discomfort than that, but much the same sentiment."

"Can't you just talk to him? Calm him down?" Sam asked.

"No. His anger manifests here, but his spirit is tied to his body. I am tied to this place."

"His body's been awol for nearly sixty years!" Dean blurted.

"That's why I called upon you." She reached into her coat pocket and drew out a small, white fur robe.

June sneezed. "Gah, that _stinks!_"

"Most find the anointing scent pleasant, bishké. It is a proper burial shroud. Do not touch his body with your hands, only with this."

Sam reached out for the fur. The instant it was in his grasp, Pazya vanished.

"For this we had to drive eighteen hours? You couldn't have sent it FedEx?" Dean shouted to the general area.

-oOo-

As soon as they got back to the car, Dean started her up and turned the air-conditioning full force. He ducked his sweaty face into the breeze.

Sam sprawled, then yanked the tail of his shirt out of his jeans and held it up off his belly. The air billowed underneath.

June leaned over the front seat and pulled at the top of her dress to channel the cool air in ways Dean didn't want to think about too much.

"So, how are we supposed to find a pissed-off, desiccated miniature shaman who went missing when Senator McCarthy was still hot news?" she asked.

Dean looked at Sam and the name came out of their mouths in unison. "Missouri."

"What's in Missouri?" June asked.

"This Missouri's a who, not a where," Dean answered and turned the car around.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam gently pulled June back to his side when she took a combative stance at the front door, and put an arm around her shoulders.

"You can relax here, Killer," Dean told her, and lifted his hand to knock.

It opened before his hand made contact. "Well, don't just stand there!" the woman on the other side barked. "Come on in! And be sure to wipe your feet!"

"Good to see you again too," Dean grinned and stepped inside. He made a point of thoroughly wiping his feet. Sam and June followed his lead. Sam was smiling, relaxed. June's expression was neutral, and she carried herself in that balanced, tight way that she had when she was on high alert.

"Come on, sit down. Well, look at you," she said, circling June.

June turned with her, keeping her from going behind her back.

Missouri's eyes narrowed. "I'll not have that level of mistrust in my own home, Puppy-gal. You let me check you out, now."

June dropped her eyes, and hung her head. "Yes ma'am."

Dean snickered. "Gonna whack her with your spoon? Or should I roll you up a newspaper?" He reached for the one on the coffee table.

"You set yourself down over there and hush that smart mouth, boy, or it's your backside that'll be gettin' acquainted with my spoon!"

June perked up and it was Sam's turn to snicker, though he had the sense to cover it with a soft cough.

"And don't you be thinkin' that just cause you're a fellow psychic I won't be doing the same to you," she warned Sam. "You sit down, too."

"Yes ma'am." Sam still grinned, but he settled in the other corner of the sofa. June sat down on the floor between them and leaned back against Sam's shin.

"Uh, to save time- do we even need to tell you why we're here?" Dean asked.

"I'd love to hear it."

"We're trying to find a mummy. A gnome-sized mummy who went missing back when Eisenhower and Stevenson were dukin' it out. If we don't, his spirit and his living kin may kick the daylights out of every human being in a twenty mile circle of his disturbed grave," Dean told her.

Sam spread his hands in a shrug. "We figured if anyone could get a lead on something like that, it would be you." He pulled the anointed fur out of his jacket pocket. "This is his shroud. I don't know if it's the original, though."

Her fingers touched it. "It is."

"Wow. You can tell that just by touch?" June asked. "All I can tell is that it stinks."

Missouri nodded. "Y'all need to stay tonight and drive southeast tomorrow."

"How far?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"Florida, I think."

"Figures," Dean grumbled. "So much effed up crap happens in Florida."

"Can you narrow it down any? If we have to go door-to-door from the state line, that area's gonna be wiped off the map before we find the little guy," Sam added.

"Not yet. Let's get something to eat."

June rose. "May I help?"

"Come on." She glared at Dean. "I'd watch what I call her, smart mouth."

"What?" Dean's eyes spread with bruised innocence. "I didn't say a word!"

"No, but you thought it." She pointed. "The kitchen is that way." She watched June, then shook a finger at Sam. "And I'd watch what names you call your brother. There's more to him than you think."

"Uh. Ok." Sam looked like he'd been caught stealing pennies off of Mommy's dresser.

"Ouch." Dean turned to his brother. "Sammy, I'm appalled and wounded."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dumbasssss means I loooove you," June sang brightly under her breath.

Missouri pointed to the kitchen again. June scurried into it with a giggle. Missouri followed her. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I'm fine," June answered, then her brows drew together. "Is there something you're picking up that I'm missing?"

"With those two?"

June nodded.

"Tell me what's going on with Dean."

"I don't understand what you mean," June answered. "He's ok, I think. He still has nightmares he won't talk about but he's quit drinking like they've stopped distillin' the stuff."

Missouri's eyes widened. "He has? Hmmm... yes, he would. He always seems to know instinctively what... even if he represses."

June's concerned frown deepened. She stepped closer to Missouri. "You know what I am to them, right? If you sense something that's a threat to either of them, please, tell me. I need to know to protect them."

"It's not a threat, dear one." Her hand curled over June's shoulder. "I promise you that. Just... make sure that Dean doesn't fight change."

"I'll do my best. But he's more stubborn than Sam even, and he doesn't put much weight on anything I say, except when I yell 'DUCK!'"

Missouri chuckled. "He will."

"I tell you one thing, though, ma'am- if he keeps calling me Scrappy-Doo, there _will_ be blood..."

"Girl, if you object to it, tell him so."

"Oh, I will," June grinned. "When it stops being fun to verbally bite him in the ass for it."

Missouri smiled. "C'mon, help me with dinner."

-oOo-

Sam stood and stretched. "Good night, Missouri."

"Good night, child," she smiled.

"'Night, ma'am. Thank you for letting us stay," June added, moving to Sam's side as if she was called to heel.

"Any time, honey. You three are always welcome."

June hooked her fingers over the back of Sam's belt as he casually looped an arm around her waist, and they headed up the stairs.

As soon as they were out of sight, Dean cocked an eyebrow at Missouri. "You let them go without comment?"

"And just why do you care? Or did those handsome eyes of yours just get greener for no reason at all?"

"My eyes have nothing to do with this."

"So you say," she shrugged. "Besides - they know better than to be that ill-mannered under my roof."

"Trust me, they've never been, ahem, _ill-mannered_ under any roof. Which is kinda weird, even for Brother Samuel."

"M-hm," Missouri said in that knowing tone that drove him insane. "Says Gentleman Dean who doesn't have the track record lately he advertises."

"Hey, it pays to play up the merchandise." He gave her a wink and rose to go upstairs too.

"Just tone down the teasin' a little."

Dean paused on the first stair. "Awww, come on! We're stuck in a car together for days at a time. I gotta have somethin' to keep me entertained!"

"What keeps Sam entertained?"

"If you think he's not in on it, you're bein' snowed," Dean snorted with a grin.

"Just make sure you're not turnin' into Frosty, yourself."

"Come again?"

"Think about it, mister snowman." And she walked out of the room.

"Why does every psychic have to talk in friggin' riddles?" he muttered under his breath and headed up the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

They were heading into Valdosta when Dean's phone rang. "Hey, Missouri. What's up?"

"I have some more information for you."

"Great- an address I hope?"

"Sure, honey. I'll send it right on by homing pigeon. It's a nudge that won't leave me alone. I keep getting two names. Both of them are female, but one I can't quite catch. That one's a place. The other is definitely Charlotte, but I don't know what or who it is."

"That's it?" Dean asked.

"What, you want an engraved invitation with a Google road map?"

"Yes, please?" Sam called out, as he opened his laptop to begin a more mundane type of search.

"I heard that."

"I hope so, otherwise I didn't say it loud enough," Sam teased back as Dean put the phone on speaker. "Hey... Looks like there's a Charlotte county, Charlotte Harbor and Port Charlotte. Any of those ring your chime?"

"Port Charlotte feels right, but I can't be certain."

"Certain or not, it's more of a lead than we've dug up," Dean agreed. "Thanks, Missouri. We owe you another one."

""You owe me more than you know."

"Again with the riddles?" Dean half-joked. "A man needs to know how deep he's in the red. How far are we in hock to you now?"

"Just take care of yourselves."

"We always do." Dean closed his phone. "Findin' anything there, Sam?"

"We might as well start on the assumption that the unknown woman's name is a street in Port Charlotte, because that's easiest to eliminate online. Annnd, looks like there's well over two thousand streets in Port Charlotte, and no way to know how many may be women's names without reading through them all. If that doesn't pan out, I'll look into businesses with women's names. Some of those may not be listed on the web."

"We got about three hundred miles to go, so now you won't get bored."

Sam flipped a water-bottle cap at him without taking his eyes from the screen. Kid had remarkable instinctive aim.

They were coming up on Lake City, Florida when Sam leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "Ok, there's about five hundred street names in Port Charlotte that could be considered feminine."

"Wouldn't have guessed that many," Dean said as he pulled into a gas station. "Is there any way to find out how many houses are on each of those streets? If I had a stolen Nirumbee shaman to hide, I wouldn't want close neighbors."

"Why?" June yawned. "That fella's tiny. He could be in a shoebox under somebody's bed for all we know."

"Yeah, but now he's pissed," Dean said. "That means something's happening to him that he doesn't like."

"Like being stuffed into a shoebox under somebody's bed," she repeated, sing-song.

Sam scoffed. "He spent years squatting on a desk as some used car dealer's lot mascot. A shoebox crypt would be a step up in respect."

"Poor Arapoosh," she sighed. "Y'know, it sounds more and more like souls are more trouble than they're worth. If you have one, you have to worry about crazy stuff like this happening even after you're long dead. At least nobody will be interested in my corpse for any hinky purpose. I'll just be bio-waste."

"True, but gross, Droopy," Dean nodded. "We'll be sure to stuff you into a trash-bag before you get too soupy. Or maybe we'll have you stuffed and mounted in a lifelike pose. Licking your butt, say."

"Gee, your compassion touches me deeply. Y'know, the only way we'll be able to tell you're dead is when you've finally shut up, 'cuz you're already ripe."

"It's conversations like these that have me wondering why I should even wait that long. There's enough salt and gas in the back for both of you," Sam groused, then got that light-bulb expression and looked over at him.

"If a Hand of Glory is powerful, what might someone be able to do with a Nirumbee shaman's whole body?"

"Ugh." Dean shuddered. "Witches are disgusting enough on their own, but necromancers? Just thinking about it makes me want to scrub down with bleach. So, we cruise every street with a chick's name, looking for witch-sign. Don't know about you two, but that'll fill my dance-card for the rest of the week."

He nodded towards Sam's laptop. "If Google Earth is up to date out there, we might can narrow it down a little. Start checking out the streets with the fewest houses?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," Sam agreed and started clicking.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is incredible." Sam stared out at the deserted landscape. Decorative street lamps marched along a double-width sidewalk. Most had their ornate globes broken.

The miles of empty streets were wide and smooth and expensive- and led to exactly nowhere. Grass grew tall in the expansion joints. Driveways branched off to nothing but impenetrable Florida undergrowth.

"Somebody sure lost their shirt on this venture," June commented from the backseat.

"Yeah, but wouldn't this be the perfect party spot?" Dean chuckled. "Man, if I was a teenager here, this would be my Disneyland."

"It probably is, on the weekends," Sam grinned, and turned his attention back to the map. "Ok, there's two possible streets in this section. Davina and Yvette."

"Sounds like a hot time courtesy of Escorts-R-Us... Which is closer?"

"Yvette. Go up two blocks and take a right, then the second left."

June rolled down her window and hung her head out into the breeze.

"Smell anything?" Sam asked.

That was one sense they couldn't fully share with her. Agreed theory was that the human brain wasn't wired to process that much olfactory input. What little Dean had experienced of it third-hand only served to convince him that the world was a far ranker place than he'd ever imagined.

"Nothing that shouldn't be here," she reported, and worked herself out farther to perch on the edge of the window opening, legs inside, arms on the roof.

"Climb on up top, I won't throw you off," Dean offered.

"Uh, I'm good where I am, thanks."

"Nice to know I'm trusted..."

"You're _known_, sugar. There's a difference," she told him with a lilt in her voice.

They were half-way down Yvette- and wow did that sound dirty even in his own head- when he opened his mouth to ask for directions to Davina. A loud slap against the roof startled the words back down his throat.

"Y'all can't smell that? You can't _see_ that? STOP!"

He hit the brakes. "Smell what?"

"I don't see anything unusual," Sam added, peering up the street.

June slid back into the seat. "That stink. Surely humans are wired to smell _that_ much decomp when the wind's right. And can't you see that trailer up there, on the corner of the next block? On the left? I mean, it's camo-painted and everything's grown up around it- but all the plants are dead on the whole lot. You _have_ to be able to see that!"

"Aversion spell?" Sam asked, looking over at him.

"One way to find out." Dean barely eased up on the brake, letting the car creep forward. With every roll of the tires he felt more and more uneasy. Nervous. He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat and braked completely again.

"Ok, that's unpleasant."

"Very. If we went to the end of the block, I'd be in full-on fight or flight."

"Heavy on the flight," Dean nodded. His heart was still beating too fast for nothing to be baring claws or flashing a weapon.

"And you don't feel a thing?" Sam turned to look at June with a puzzled frown.

"No, nothing like that. Just a little nervous and queasy because of all the death-stink."

"Think you're immune to magic?" Dean asked.

"I don't know." She rubbed an ear, her expression bewildered. "We were never taught much about it at all."

"Because maybe, for your kind, it's a non-issue," Sam ventured, and then spoke to Dean. "No soul, no magic?"

"Then, magic's a catalyst that's inert without a spiritual reagent... makes sense to me. If the theory holds up, its is one for the journal, for damn sure."

Sam gaped.

"What? Dude, I did pay attention in some of my classes. Chemistry- poisonous crap that also might explode? I was all over that one."

Sam blinked and gave his head a shake. "Ok, so we can't get near this place without an adrenaline dump, and even if we could, we can't see it... "

"So we use our remote control android back there to defuse the magic-mines," Dean finished for him, jerking his thumb in June's direction.

"I take exception to your vile aspersions cast upon my realism, sir, but I can't argue with your logic," June shot back. "So, what do I need to know to bust this aversion ward or invisibility spell or whatever the hell's going on up there?"

"So y'all kin charge in an' rescue mah lily-white ass when Ah'm up to it in zombie alligators," Dean interrupted in an exaggerated drawl.

She gave the back of his head a little shove. "I'm perfectly capable of handling any potential scenario on my own, damnyankee."

"Hey! I'm from Kansas! Don't go making assumptions."

"Yeah, like you'd ever confess to being on the losing side," June snorted.

As usual, Sam was ignoring their sparring, focused on sketching symbols on a note pad.

She slithered over the back of the seat to squeeze in between them just before Sam lifted his head.

"Ok, these will probably be written over every opening, in blood, but they may be small and hidden. Wiping over them with holy water-"

"Or your own blood," Dean interjected.

"Or wiping over them with _human_ blood, since you don't have the necessary soul," Sam amended, "will neutralize them. Blood's permanent erasure. Holy water is effective only till it evaporates."

"Ok. We'll go with the water and work quick."

Dean got out of the car and went around to the trunk. They both ignored his exit. He could still follow the conversation through the open windows.

"When you break the wards, you might set off some sort of sentry spell, but there's no way to know ahead of time. Those can be cast without leaving any sigils behind."

"What about the invisibility?" June asked.

"There should be hex bags buried at the corners of the property, and at the cardinal directions. Dig those up and scatter the contents. Try not to touch anything inside the bags until they're scattered."

"I should be able to sniff them out," she said and then gasped. "I smell blood!"

They both bailed out of the car.

"Don't panic," Dean assured them both as they closed in on him. He flexed his fist again to strengthen the trickle of blood running out of the nick in his vein.

"What are you doing?" June burst out.

"Thanks for taking one for the team," Sam said in the same instant.

"If you stuck yourself, she'd have a conniption," Dean shrugged. "Think about it, Peabody. It's Florida. It's hot. How long do you think a smear of water's gonna last?"

"I'm sorry you had to bleed, because of me," she murmured as she retrieved a bandage and opened it.

"Like I said, sucks to be you, and sometimes that rubs off."

She wouldn't meet his eyes as she began to wrap the little wound like it was life-threatening.

"Dean—" Sam growled. Dean touched his hand. Sam nodded, took the vial from him and capped it.

Dean reached out and ran a palm over June's bowed head. "Hey, look at me."

Sad blue eyes lifted to his.

"Sucks to be us, too, and I _know_ that rubs off on everybody who doesn't run from us like their head's on fire. I'm not crazy about sending you in there alone, and I sure as hell know Sam doesn't like it. But you're willing to do it, to protect us, and that's gotta count for more than a glorified paper cut."

She slid her arms around his waist for a quick, hard hug. Sam laid a hand on both their shoulders, completing the circuit. Dean savored it as long as he dared, then stepped back from them both.

"Ok, feel-and-deal moment's over. Time to gear up, Balto."

"Aw, that's the nicest thing you've ever called me," June cooed, dropped her dress, and reached for her collar.


	6. Chapter 6

He had recognized the practicality of the thing the first time she pulled it out of her pack, weeks ago, but this was the first time she'd buckled it on. The wide leather collar was heavily studded with black-anodized, very sharp spikes. When she was in fur, it would encase her neck. In skin, it sat loose on her shoulders and hid her chin. A combined holster and knife-sheath hung from it down the center of her chest, the bottom secured by a strap she fastened loosely around her ribs.

He'd seen her naked so often the sight had lost its punch, but in this get-up? There was some serious kink-factor going on. He focused on getting his own weaponry together till he felt the abrupt breeze of cooler air that signified her transformation.

He turned to watch her furry tail disappear into the undergrowth. Sam had his cell out, and when he set it to speaker, they could hear faint swishing noises and June's canine breathing.

"Good thinking," he murmured, and Sam nodded. He had a vague, almost dazed expression and Dean knew his brother was only half-present. "Too bad you can't share her eyes, too."

Sam's head jerked around and his eyebrows lifted. "There shouldn't be any reason I can't. It's all nervous system information, at first."

He turned back to June's direction, and Dean saw a chillingly familiar cast pass over Sam's features. The expression of intense concentration he had when he pulled demons with his mind.

"Hey! Don't give yourself an aneurysm."

Sam blinked and rubbed his temples. "It's not that bad, but it's not working. It's feels so damn close, but I can't quite grasp it."

"Gonna have to practice," Dean conjectured.

Sam nodded. "Or she may see so differently that we aren't wired to process the input."

Sam jerked, startled, a split-second before ferocious barking burst out down the street and from the phone. Dean laid his hand on Sam's shoulder and they both found out what it felt like to be a dog in one hell of a fight. Dean felt Sam wince and flinch with every bite June absorbed.

"Come on, Cujo-" Dean whispered with urgent intent.

"Give 'em hell, sweetheart," Sam breathed.

The noise coming over the phone diminished. One dog down, its pained yelps diminishing to whimpers. A silenced gun-shot pop and a short canine shriek followed- one they could hear without benefit of the phone- then silence.

"I'm ok." June breathlessly said into the speaker in her normal voice. "Obviously, no one's home to hear that racket. Gotta clear the hex bags and wards out of the back now. Five minutes."

Four minutes, fifteen seconds later, a camo-painted singlewide shimmered into visibility, complete with a quarter-acre of dead, shriveled vegetation. The stench of rotting flesh slapped them in the face the same instant. The ground around the trailer was littered with the decaying carcasses of what looked like every type of wild life in the area.

The uncanny aversion was gone, but the place screamed 'Stay the fuck away!' all on its own.

-oOo-

He and Sam tugged aside the big dead dog that blocked the back gate. Obviously, the thing had sailed right over and jumped June.

She pushed opened the back gate for them then, bloodied but with a big... bloodied... grin. Dean decided not to think about that one too much but glanced over at the second big carcass, this one shot between its glazed eyes. Without the damn spells, he and Sam could have handled them... and he was glad they didn't have to. She earned her keep today, that was for damn sure.

"There's a doggie-door, can you believe it? I'll go through with this key and let y'all in like proper company." She transformed, picked up a blood-spattered electronic collar in her teeth and trotted up to the house.

June slipped through a dog-door that was, honestly, big enough for him to squeeze through. Maybe even Sam if he didn't breath during the process.

"DON'T TOUCH THE DOOR!" she yelled instantly.

"What is it?" Sam asked, and Dean jerked his foot off the porch, just in case.

"Shot-gun trap!"

He went one way and Sam went the other, out of range of a 10 gauge pattern spread. Just in case.

"Holy shit, y'all- this place is mundane booby-trapped out the wazoo and no telling what all these weird-ass symbols mean. I don't even recognize half of them."

"A short pause to consider if this withered up shaman is worth it?" Dean asked them both.

"Dying humans are worth it," Sam gritted. "June, disarm anything you can find, and send me pics of the symbols and any traps you can't handle."

Dean backed off to take look-out on the place, and he was relieved to see Sam back off out of the blast zone, in case June screwed up in there.

-oOo-

At the end of an hour that lasted at least ten years, she opened the front door and they did walk in like invited, sweat-soaked guests. Guests who expected to get their heads blown off at any random moment, but still...

"You found the friggin' mummy?" Dean snapped as soon as they crossed the threshold into a living room decorated in early LaVey.

"Yes, but I wasn't about to touch him without the shroud."

Sam pulled it out of the bag he had hung across his chest. June wrinkled her nose and led them back through the trailer to a bathroom.

"In there. I didn't want to go in until you saw what we were up against."

"Oh that's just wrong," Dean groaned. The little shriveled-up dude perched on the toilet lid, a cloth painted with arcane symbols beneath him. Black and red candles covered every available surface and it was plain to see- and smell- that someone had done some butchering in the tub.

Probably to do the finger-painting that covered every inch of everything in the room.

"I don't think there's any booby-traps, but are any of those symbols a danger to you?" June asked.

Dean leaned in beside Sam, both of them careful to not let themselves cross the threshold. "Not as long as we don't go in," Sam ventured. "I can't see the ones directly above the door; they're probably the worst." He handed her the fur.

"Soul-less first," Dean said, with an 'after you' sweep of his arm.

"Again, what's the big advantage to 'em?" June quipped as she eased past the doorway. Placing every step with care, her head on a swivel, she approached the mummy on his humiliating throne.

"Arapoosh, I'm June. We're here to take you home."

"Hi, I'm Dean, that's my brother Sam. Don't smite us, ok? We're white, sure, but we mean well."

Sam rolled his eyes at him. "All due respect, Shaman."

"There, we've made introductions," Dean said. "Miss Manners would be pleased. Can we get the hell outta here now? I got a feeling we're runnin' out of time."

June wrapped the little mummy up in the fur like a newborn and crept out as cautiously as she'd gone in. No black goo billowed up from the fixtures. No flies poured in the window. No big stone ball burst through the back wall.

They were good. Clean getaway. The back and front doors slammed simultaneously. Oh. Shit.


	7. Chapter 7

"Didn't I just _kill_ those mutts?" June blurted. She set the mummy down on the floor and in the next instant launched herself at the two gory dog carcasses that were galloping towards them.

He and Sam had bigger concerns. Like, the dozens of dead animals outside that were now pouring inside.

"You had to say zombie alligators..." Sam blew the liquid brains out of a gator roughly the size of a canoe as it scrabbled towards them.

"Guess now we know what's pissed-off off Arapoosh." Dean dropped Bambi-by-Tim-Burton.

"Hope we haven't set off the damn _zombie_ apocalypse now." Sam stomped a rabid, rotten chipmunk before it could chew through his shoe.

"Zombies we can handle." Two more rounds took out a coyote and what used to be either a possum or a really, really big rat. "JUNE! Headshots, you idiot! Headshots!"

Four reports from June's silenced .45 popped behind him, followed by a pair of thuds and a slam from the back door, so Dean figured she'd finally gotten the undead memo.

"Don't waste ammo!" Sam snapped at her.

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Samuel!"

"Trouble in paradise?" Dean field-kicked a fox and finished it off when it bounced off the wall and came back at him.

"Whatever gives you that idea?" Sam fired again. "Gross! What _was_ that?"

"I dunno- too far gone." Dean cleared out a new wave pouring in the door with a shotgun blast.

Dean lost track after that, and probably the others did too. They were down to knives, blunt objects and steely determination by the time quiet, wonderful _dead_ quiet, fell on the place.

"I say we burn this place to the ground," Dean muttered as he squished his way out across the stinking corpses.

"I second that- and I move we then find the nearest cemetery and make sure nobody's come back topside," Sam agreed. "Gah, I wish I'd worn boots!"

"You think this may have spread?" June quavered as she minced her way out, the mummy held high as if she were wading a river.

She really looked green. Dean started to tease her about it, but reconsidered. He was about to lose last weeks' lunch from the stink, so he had to admire her intestinal fortitude, considering.

"This was obviously some major necromancy," Sam said. "I doubt raising a zoo's worth of animal zombies was the entire point of it."

"Think this jerk had finished doing whatever the hell he had planned?"

"Maybe not," Sam mused.

"What makes you think that?" June asked.

"The candles."

"Good point," Dean nodded.

"They'd been lit," June objected.

"But they hadn't burned long. Usually, when casting a spell, the candles are left to burn themselves out. A votive offering, in a way," Sam told her.

"Let's hope you're right. Zombies are disgusting." Dean clapped his hands as they reached the car. "Ok, who's up for some hot arson action?"

"After I change my shoes," Sam grimaced. He toed off his slimy trainers.

-oOo-

The cemeteries of the area were still, thankfully, places of eternal rest. After a week of tense surveillance, there was unanimous agreement that whoever owned that gnarly trailer had been warned off by the fire.

More people would be helped by getting Arapoosh's pruney little behind back out where he belonged than by hanging around longer to try and nab one witch who'd lost their major mojo.

"Maybe we should get a car seat for him," June remarked as she got into the back, the mummy tucked up in his fur bundle in her arms.

Sam snickered. "He's been dead for at least two centuries. I don't think we have to worry about him in a crash."

"I would appreciate it anyway," whispered a disembodied male voice.

-oOo-

Finis


End file.
